


Ghostwood Branches

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Ghost Sex, Other, Self Isolation, T legal- 3 months, underage as in Connor's 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The great weight of expectation expresses itself in many forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghostwood Branches

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, y'all, don't take candy from strangers.
> 
> AO3's formatting is being strange at the moment. I tried making the format as readable as possible, but I apologize if it still looks weird. 
> 
> I listened to Girl Band on repeat while writing this, but that has basically nothing to do with this fic other than mood. More detailed warnings at end.

If anyone asked, Connor wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint when the feeling started. For years, it’d felt like there were eyes on him constantly. The transition from the pressure of a million eyes- squeezing his chest, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him forward- to a physical presence had been impalpable.

Connor does remember a hotel room in Detroit, a day after blowing Saginaw out of the water. Their usual Holiday Inn in Windsor had overbooked or something, forcing the team to drive all over to find a hotel with thirteen open rooms. They’d ended up in an old, sketchy motel on the wrong side of the border. The room was still fairly standard; two beds, a couple lamps, a table. A picture of a white fox that Connor wasn’t too fond of.

He was fiddling on his phone when he felt a finger drag down his spine. The touch was solid, firm as it rode over the ridges of his back. It started dipping below the waistband of his shorts before Connor bothered to swing an arm back and say, “Knock it off, Stromer.”

Except Connor’s arm didn’t connect with anything. All he managed was to flip himself over. On his side, Connor could see Dylan curled up on his bed, clearly not having moved in the last ten seconds. Dylan frowned over at him.

“You okay?”  

Connor swallowed. He felt two fingers then, steadily climbing up his back. “Um. What are you doing?” Dylan crinkled his nose.

“Telling everyone to sue this hotel if we die from mold poisoning.”

Connor had doubts that mold itself is poisonous. Normally he’d argue over it. Instead he rolled over onto his back. A tepid palm lingered on the back of Connor’s neck, but the bed didn’t stop the fingers from sliding right back down the line of his spine. He shook his head, trying to tell himself he wasn’t feeling anything. He sat up. Moved off the bed. Sat on the floor. Lied on the floor. Nothing he did stopped the feeling of nails, now, scratching up and down his back.

“Do you feel weird?” Connor finally asked. Grinding his back into the floor proved ineffective.

“What? Are you sick already?” Dylan sounded ready to bolt.

“ _No_ ,” Connor said emphatically. “I just… you don’t feel anything?” There was a pause, and then the sound of Dylan climbing over the bed. He looked down at Connor, assessing. Connor tried very hard not to squirm. It’d take seconds for Dylan to run down the hall, get Coach, show him Connor writhing on the floor.

“You look kind of red, buddy.” The touch was oddly… intimate. The girl Connor lost his virginity hadn’t bothered touching him like that. Maybe because his team barged in right after.

Connor shook his head hard. “I just gotta…” he jerked up and escaped into the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him before lifting up his sweatshirt. His back looks the same in the mirror, a little on the scrawny side and pale even after the long summer, no red lines or dents where he can still feel the fingers crawling.

Connor yanked the hem back down. He wanted to shower, but the thought of getting naked right then made him uncomfortable. Wandering hands and all that. He leaned back against the wall, sure that this would be the time that blocking access would stop the wandering. It did not. Connor rocked against wall, racking his brain for a possible cause. If not the bed, not bugs, nothing Connor could see, was he actually sick? Brain damaged? Both? He tried imaging explaining this impossible feeling to Coach Knoblauch and the team doctors. They’d poke and prod at him until an answer fell out, and he’d be benched for however long that took. He couldn’t miss out that long this year, he _couldn’t_.

Can you play hockey when you’re hallucinating? Would any team draft a schizophrenic?

He sat there trying to get the sensation to stop, by force of will and by prayers, until the there was a knock at the door.

“I am literally going to get Coach if you don’t prove you’re not sick right now.” That forced Connor into action. He glanced in the mirror, making sure his face revealed nothing. As sensitive as Connor’s back felt, his arm felt like it was made of lead when he went to open the door.

“What?”

Dylan was standing on the other side, obviously. “Are you dying?”

“No,” Connor responded emphatically as the fingers dragged slow and close to the crease of his ass. Dylan looked deeply unconvinced. “I’m just- start of the season nerves, you know?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He squinted at Connor before turning around and flopping back on his bed. Connor hesitated before climbing next to him. Dylan didn’t say anything, just threw an arm out for him. Connor’s grateful. At least then he could pretend that hand belonged to someone, even as it settled low and heavy on his back.

 

***

 

Connor’s not sure if it ever goes away after that night. There always seemed to be an extra arm over his shoulder, a leg pressed against his during dinner, a lingering caress on his face whenever someone gets too close-

 

***

 

Connor’s last year in Erie was a strange one, besides the obvious. Hodgy was gone. Stephen was gone. His soul was already sold to whichever team won the lottery, as good as drafted. Being a year ahead but held back created a strange limbo, one that put a cellophane barrier between Connor and the rest of the team. Connor _tried_ , he wanted to be a good leader and teammate, but-

Even with Stromer, Connor felt guilty sliding up against him to ward off the claustrophobia of a hand hanging around your neck, all while people were writing shit about Dylan not being any good without Connor.

So Connor gave people space. He did what he had to do and tried to not let it affect the guys, though his throat started locking up every time his mother asked how he was. Everything needed to go smoothly and according to plan, even as his body stopped being solely his own.

 

***

The first time he felt that feather light touch against his balls he immediately let go of his dick, like it had been some angel’s reminder to stay celibate.

It was not. Instead, something else grabbed his dick, far tighter than he normally would. It jerks him slow and firm, from base to tip.

Connor could barely breathe. He definitely couldn’t move, not even if he tried.

The sensation of having his dick tugged on while hands were paralyzed over his thighs with no one in front of him was bizarre. He wished desperately that his dick would soften. Vaguely he remembered a sex ed teacher intoning that an erection was a perfectly normal reaction to fear.

He’s brought straight to the edge with the sudden focus on the head of the dick. The friction practically made his eyes roll back in his head. His load was being forced out of him too fast, and his core throbbed from the pressure. He came like a snapped rubber band, gasping and lax when it ended.

He felt a hand run through his hair, tender and not at all sticky.

The next day he’s named the OHL Player of the Week.

 

***

 

It didn’t stop. Every time Connor tried masturbating he’d feel an extra set of hands- on his nipples, his balls, his mouth- if it wasn’t jerking Connor off itself. After the first time it decided to wring back-to-back orgasms out of Connor, he decided to deal with the wandering touches.

That is, until the day when it started while Connor was getting a post-practice snack. He was digging through the cabinets while his billet father made pointedly casual comments about the Sabres’ season when he felt a grab at his dick. He dropped the box of Fruit Roll-Ups like it was on fire (which, really, he wasn’t even planning on eating too many of) and sprinted upstairs, barely managing to throw a “Igottago” behind him. The casual grope didn’t let up as Connor ripped off his boxers and fell to his bed.

He started jerking off mechanically, not even sure why or what it wanted. Connor imagined jogging towards a necessary finish line. A means to an end. That is, until he felt a fingertip against his hole. Connor immediately let go of his dick, offering himself up-

It wrapped loose around his dick, but didn’t stop petting at his hole. Connor shoving a hand between his legs, trying to cover himself, but it made no difference. It only pressed more firmly, as if to prove a point. “God, no, please,” Connor muttered, curling in on himself. Lying his back made it feel like it might actually go _in_ , and he goes back onto his side. Connor desperately tried to make it himself come, yanking on himself quickly, but it was like the slow phantom touch was all that mattered. In the end, there’s no doubt that it was the slow, patient pull on his dick and the threat against his ass that made him come.

***

Connor really needed to get laid.

He needed to be fixed, and sex was the only solution he could think of.

They’d just crushed Saginaw again. The team was feeling good. Connor latched on when one of the guys suggested going to a party at his girlfriend’s house.

Everyone turned and gaped at him. Connor flushed. It’s true that Connor had been avoiding parties even more than usual this season, petrified at the thought of people taking pictures of him and it making national Canadian news. Now he’s more worried about being given a haunted handjob as he sits between his parents at the Draft, coming in front of thousands as he pulls on his draft jersey.

“I really need to get laid,” he told them.

He got commiseratory groans for that, and a few hours later a cheerleader named Sammi was deposited into his lap. Connor thought she was a flyer, so he told her he thinks being thrown in the air would be very scary. Sammi told him that she thinks hyper-aggressive boys coming at each other with sticks and knives is very scary.

They’re shoved into room together. Sammi ended up on top of him, and he felt so, so guilty and embarrassed when the hand toying deep between his legs made him come too fast.

There were fingers at the back of his throat choking him as he ate her out after.

***

Connor was deliriously frustrated. The magnifying glass he was under seemed to grow by the day. Mr. Orr called every other day about a new special for him to star in. Control was spiraling away. He couldn’t come how he wanted.

In the end, it didn’t take much for that little fuck from Sauga to get him to drop his gloves. The fight was blood-boiling, freeing, therapeutic-

It broke his goddamn hand. He wouldn’t have even noticed his missing knuckle through the euphoric haze if it wasn’t for the death grip on his wrist.

***

He kept getting pinched as the doctor put on his cast. “I’m sorry,” he groaned.

His dad grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Connor jerked, then nodded at him.

***

 

Connor stopped taking his pain pills after three days. His hand still throbbed, but he hated being tired all the time. He’d stopped letting himself near google several days earlier. His parents are not disappointed. His coach is mad that he lost his head, but not disappointed.

There was still a lot disappointment to go around. Canada, certainly, was disappointed. Connor was disappointed.

Connor spent most of his time off maintaining his conditioning and moping. It is on the upswing of a moping session that Connor realized that he hadn’t felt anything… extra in days. The thought of being alone was enough to make his dick twitch.

 _Maybe it’s gone to bother Eichel,_ he prayed as he eased his dick out of his pants.

He took it slow, not that the had much of a choice with his left hand. Still, it was so fucking nice to just jerk himself off. He sighed as the pressure built, so ready for the ritual to come full circle-

Something clamped down hard on the base of his dick. Connor screamed and kicked out, but obviously that accomplished nothing. He felt like crying. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted to come.

Connor waited for his erection to go down or for the vice grip to ease up, but neither happened. He stayed red hot and sore, jutting straight up. Connor’s hand shook as he brought it back to his dick. He was so sensitive, but rubbing himself didn’t bring him any closer. “I don’t know what you want,” Connor said, barely able to force it out.

Immediately, there’s a thumb pressed against Connor’s hole. He sobbed. “No, no, come on, I can’t…”

It squeezed tighter on Connor’s dick for a second before loosening. Connor breathed.

Then he felt a finger sliding into him. He inhaled so fast he choked. It shouldn’t be that easy, they should need lube or something. But no, it’s spreading him wide open with one, two, three fingers before Connor could process. The violation made him feel raw and sore, like a day with the team masseuse. Connor squirmed hard, but it followed his movements easily. He tried to roll over, get his knees under him, tried to crawl away-

An awful idea, in the end, because he’s suddenly being held by the hips and, God, there was something large and rounded being pushed against his hole.

This thing breaching him felt so fucking thick in him. The weight of it was incredible. Connor had no idea how he could take it. At the same time, he could feel how easily he was taking it. It didn’t burn like he was sure it would, whenever he let himself think about it. It probably helped that his whole body felt limp, no strength left in him anywhere. He was lucky his broken hand had fallen to the side.

Connor couldn’t hope to contain his whine when it started to fuck into him at a pace just short of brutal. The thrusts were making his bed thump against the wall, but the hands were strong, held him fast in place.

The rhythm was so steady it couldn’t possibly be a man fucking him, but Connor could feel its humanity in the brutality of the thrusts. _Something-_ a nonexistent cock- pressed against his walls, pushing at him in the worst way. It made his dick drool.  Connor didn’t want to come like this, but the harsh pumping kept going on forever. Connor wondered deliriously if someone would be able to see inside him if they walked in. Nothing was there, but he could feel how wide open he was. The thought that he was getting fucked while still being so alone made something wet and embarrassing bubble up inside him. Connor wished he could move his arm just something real could fill the hole in him. There was nothing natural about this. It made his stomach clench. His dick ached from how swollen it was. Hours could have passed with Connor immobile, only able beg for forgiveness and release.

All it took was a caress to the underside of Connor’s dick before he burst. The scream never managed to escape his throat, but it felt like his soul was wrung from his body. He felt like shook apart completely. The force behind him grinded to a halt, too, resting in Connor for a moment before disappearing.

It was so quiet after. The room felt unbearably still. Connor could almost convince himself nothing happened. When he reached back, he felt as tight as ever. Like he’d truly been alone the whole time.

Connor’s face felt soaked. He was trembling too hard to do anything about it past rubbing his cheeks against the sheets.

His injured arm was readjusted it against one of Connor’s pillows. _Please_. An almost warm pressure slid on top of him. _I’m sorry._ A hand started running through his hair so softly, putting him back together. Eventually, the gentle touch lulled him to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is thoroughly noncon; at no point does Connor want or truly enjoy what's happening to him. About three lines of this fic include fairly inexplicit heterosex. Uh, there's also some objectification from the fourth dimension? I think that should cover everything, but if you notice anything that deserves a warning, feel free to comment. 
> 
> [I have a tumblr!](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com) It's 100% my (pretty tame, I swear) porn blog, but if anyone wants to get in contact with me, you're more than welcome to.


End file.
